The Long Road Home
by ironheartwriter
Summary: Mike returns after months of chasing Mark around the world and realizes just how much the chase has cost him.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Finally, a multi-chapter Maxton fic. I've been wanting to do one for a long time. I'm really excited for this one and can't wait to see where it goes. I hope it's enjoyed.

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><p>Snow crunched under his feet as he made his way through the cemetery, his eyes barely noticing the half-covered headstones that he passed by as he walked toward his destination. Mike Weston zipped his faithful black leather jacket up a little more against the cold breeze that swirled around him and adjusting the baseball hat that sat atop his head, bringing it lower over his eyes. How many months had it been since he'd been on US soil? He didn't even remember clearly. He didn't remember much, in all honesty. It was like he wore blinders most of the time, his mind focused on only one thing. And that one thing had evaded him for months, and for the time being he had other things on his mind.<p>

Had it really been a year ago that he'd been standing in the FBI Headquarters in New York City watching a video that Lily Gray had recorded of her twisted son slitting his father's throat? That meant it had also been a year since _she_ had been kidnapped by the Huntsman.

_Stop it_, Mike mentally rebuked himself as he continued his trek through the cemetery. God, he felt bad enough without his mind going there. He was sure he was sick. He had been for a while, but who had time to track down a doctor when you were constantly on the hunt for one specific person? He wasn't even sure when the last time he'd eaten had been. His entire brain seemed to work better when he focused only on one thing at a time those days. So he would continue doing that. _Just concentrate on what you came here to do_.

At long last he stopped in front of the headstone he had been looking for. The several sets of footprints that surrounded it told him that his family had already come and gone, which he had expected. It was late in the afternoon, they were probably spending the day together, starting with a trip to this very spot. He was relieved that he was alone though. His family hadn't heard from him in months, somewhere around nine months if his calculations were right, which they usually were. He wondered if they had finally given up on him too.

He knelt down, the snow crunching beneath him as he did so. He looked over the simple headstone, his heart sinking as his eyes traveled over his father's name, date of birth, date of death…. His heart clenched painfully and suddenly the tears were flowing down his cheeks. A year had gone by, and what did he have to show for it? Not a damn thing. He had lost _everything_, and at the end of the day, he had no one to blame but himself. And he did blame himself for every last thing that had happened over the last year. From his father dying, to the countless people who had died while the case went on, to the part of him that was lost forever when he killed Lily, to his relationship with Max ending when he had gone on the hunt for Mark, following lead after lead… it was all his fault.

The tears couldn't stop at that point, and Mike felt like he couldn't breathe. He was out in the middle of the frigid cemetery, and yet he felt like he was suddenly boxed in by invisible walls. He tried to inhale, but the air wouldn't come. He was being crushed by the weight of it all, and for the first time he let it all go, allowing the guilt to finally come down on his entire being.

"I'm sorry, dad," Mike finally choked out, his throat tight with the emotions that continued to crush him. He needed to breathe, to inhale, his body wanting so badly to cough, if only to relieve some of the pressure, but he couldn't seem to remember _how_ to inhale, how to fill his lungs with enough air to make the world stop spinning around him. How could he have been so stupid? Why hadn't he listened to _her_? Of course seeking revenge wasn't going to fix anything. But his mind had been so clouded over with grief that he could see nothing else, even the opportunity for happiness that had been so clearly staring him in the face.

She was all he thought about on the days and nights that felt hopeless. The nights where he refused to let the pain take hold of him. He remembered the good times they'd had before he left, times where he'd finally felt a sliver of happiness after his father's death. And yet he'd still let her go. He didn't deserve her, and he knew that he could never truly be happy with her until he either got rid of Mark Gray, or he gave up his hunt. At the moment, the second option definitely seemed like the option he should have chosen, but he had been so clouded over with pain and guilt he hadn't been able to see it.

Where was she now, he wondered. Probably somewhere in New York, enjoying the holiday season with Ryan for a change, maybe with a new lover, finding her own happiness, while he was exactly where he started.

He stayed there for a few minutes, maybe longer, he wasn't sure. He really couldn't tell how long it took to finally be able to breathe again. All he knew was that that first breath he finally managed had stopped the spinning, and each breath that followed got a little easier. He leaned back on his heels and looked up at the darkening sky, allowing the rapidly cooling air to fill his lungs over and over again. He didn't know where he went from that point. He was so lost, he wasn't sure he'd ever find his way back to being the person he had once been. He wasn't sure that person even existed inside of him anymore. How had it all gone so wrong in such a short amount of time?

"Mike?"

Mike's entire body went rigid, feeling as though it had changed to ice as he heard the soft voice behind him. There was no way it was possible; no way that she could be there. He'd heard her voice hundreds of times before, usually when he hit rock bottom, which happened quite frequently those days. That was how he knew he could get no lower.

The sound of the snow crunching behind him caught his attention and finally he turned, his eyes widening as he saw her there. She stood behind him, her cerulean blue eyes piercing his and once again he felt his breath leave his chest as he looked up at her, "Max."


	2. Chapter 2

AN: As always, thank you, thank you, thank you for the reviews on the first chapter. I hope you all continue to enjoy the story.

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><p>Mike didn't want to blink. If he did, she might disappear. Max said nothing but stood there, each breath she took visible on the frigid air, her eyes watching him carefully. He finally got to his feet, his eyes never leaving hers as he stood opposite her, "What are you…?" He finally managed to say, still not entirely certain that she was truly in front of him just watching him as he watched her.<p>

"Doing here?" Max finished for him. She tilted her head slightly as she looked up at him. God, he looked horrible. It had been months since he'd left shortly after Joe had gone back to jail. Neither she nor Ryan had seen or heard from him since the day he said he was leaving and he wasn't sure he was coming back. She couldn't exactly describe the relief that she felt at seeing him, though. He was alive, but he definitely wasn't living. There were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes and he seemed thinner than he had ever been. Even his voice sounded off to her ears, and if there was one thing she could always identify, it was his voice. "Ryan and I had a bet going," She said, crossing her arms over her chest. "I bet him that you would come back today, and you would come to your father's grave. Clearly, I was right."

"Clearly," Mike echoed, glancing back over his shoulder at the headstone. He looked up as he noticed snow starting to fall, white flecks falling on Max's dark hair. She looked amazing to him, just as he remembered. He longed for her, to reach out and feel for certain that she was real, but he resisted because he didn't want to be wrong.

"Have you been home yet?" Max asked, already pretty sure of the answer, but she had to ask anyway.

Mike shook his head. Having a normal conversation with someone felt weird, especially having the conversation in English, "I took a cab here from the airport. I wanted to get here before the cemetery closed, and I wasn't sure that I would be able to leave if I got home and started getting comfortable." Just the thought of going home was something else he was longing for. He missed his home, his bed, all of it.

"Let me take you home," Max said, zipping her own jacket up a little more as a frigid breeze blew between them. Mike opened his mouth to say something, but he was taken over by a coughing fit. He covered his mouth with his elbow and groaned softly as he finally managed to stop coughing. That cough had been his constant companion over the last few weeks and it didn't seem to be getting any better, only worse. He noticed Max watching him, a concerned look on her face, "Are you okay?"

"Just a cough," Mike shrugged, all the desire he had to refuse the ride from Max suddenly gone from him. Accepting the ride from her would definitely be the fastest way home, and he was almost desperate to get there. "And a ride sounds great, actually, if you're okay with that."

"I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't," Max said, the faintest hint of a smile appearing on her face as she motioned for Mike to follow her. He trailed behind her, following her to the parking lot, silence hanging between them, "I saw your mom when she was here earlier," She said as she headed for her car. "She's worried about you, you know."

"I don't know why," Mike shrugged as he narrowly avoided slipping on some ice. He hated thinking about his family. Everyone had said things that had hurt one another, but at the end of the day, they were still family.

"Mike, no one knew what happened to you," Max said, stopping and turning to look at him. "The only thing that we knew was that you weren't dead because your name never popped up when Ryan did a search for you through ever database the FBI has access to, and even that we couldn't be sure of. You disappeared off the face of the earth from everyone who cared and loved about you without even…."

Her voice trailed off as she saw the pain flash in Mike's eyes. He was exhausted and probably in more pain than he was letting on, and if she didn't know him so well she might not have caught it, but as it were, she knew him as well as anyone could. She sighed softly and pulled out the remote for her car, her new baby a black Jeep Grand Cherokee, starting the engine with a push of a button.

"What happened to the Jetta?" Mike asked after hesitating for a moment, clearing his throat to stop another cough attack. He didn't miss the way that Max's eyes shot him a look of concern, "Really, I'm _fine_. Nothing a hot shower and some sleep won't help."

"I got rid of the Jetta when I got a new job," Max said, unlocking the doors and allowing Mike into the car, the heater already starting to warm up the interior. She sighed as she settled behind the driver's seat, "It's not Detective Hardy anymore, Mike. Now it's Agent Hardy."

Mike froze as he settled in the passenger seat after putting on his seat belt. He hadn't noticed it before, but now that he glanced at Max's hip, he saw her gun there, and right beside it, a badge not unlike the one he carried when he worked, "Oh, wow. Congratulations. I can't say that's completely unexpected, though, after everything that's happened."

"Yeah, I remember before you left we used to joke about it," Max said as she pulled the Jeep out of its spot and headed for the cemetery gates. She glanced both ways before pulling out onto the road. She was happy that she and Mike at least seemed to be able to have a normal conversation with one another.

"I remember," Mike said after a moment of thinking. Things from before he left were often a little hazy for him, but now that Max brought it up, he did have memories of the two of them joking about her joining the FBI and the two of them being partners. "You were so sure you would never leave the NYPD though."

"Yeah, well, the position they offered me, since they weren't letting me go back to the intel division, didn't interest me as much as the offer from the FBI did," Max said honestly with a shrug. "The pay raise didn't hurt either, though."

"I bet," Mike said with half a smile. Now that he was sitting in the warm car, he could feel his tiredness hitting him again. How long had it been since he'd slept last? He was warm and comfortable in the passenger seat with the heat blowing on him. His eyes started to drift closed, and the next thing he knew Max was turning off the engine of the Jeep in the driveway of his house, parking behind his own car.

He looked up at the white house that he had called home for so long after rubbing his eyes. As he inhaled to yawn, another coughing fit overtook him. He felt like his body was actually trying to eradicate his lungs from within his chest. He groaned softly as the coughs finally subsided, his throat feeling raw.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Max asked, giving him a concerned look. That cough sounded even worse than it had when she was standing opposite him in the cemetery. She wasn't altogether sure that he wasn't contagious, but she didn't care at that point. "I can call Gwen, Ryan's girlfriend, she's an ER doctor, and I'm sure I can get her down here to make sure you're not seriously sick."

Mike glanced at Max, tilting his head slightly at her, "I'm fine, Max. I just haven't really slept in four months. I'm sure some sleep after a hot shower is all I need." He was lying through his teeth, though. He felt miserable, like he needed to sleep for a few weeks straight. But he didn't want Max to worry about him after what he had done to her.

"You're lying," Max said in a low tone, her eyes not leaving his. She sighed softly and unbuckled her seatbelt, "You're _such_ a bad liar, Mike, you always have been, especially to me. Come on, let's get inside. I was here earlier and I partially filled your fridge and turned on the heat _just in case_ you did show up today."

"You… what?" Mike asked, not entirely sure that he had heard her correctly. He looked at her, really looked at her, like he was seeing her for the first time. She had held onto _that_ much hope that he would be coming back that she had even gotten his house ready for him? After everything he had done? Why?

"I just had a feeling that you'd be back today," Max said in the same low tone as she got out of the car. "I didn't think you'd want to come home to a cold house and an empty fridge."

Mike followed Max up the path to his house and was met by a rush of warm air as the front door opened. He'd forgotten that she had keys to his house. After Joe had gone back to jail, he'd spent the following months mostly in New York by Max's apartment, but he'd never fully moved out of his own house. He sighed softly as he glanced around. The house felt strange to him. Warm, but strange; almost as though it wasn't really his house. Max stood beside him, not missing the way that he clearly didn't seem happy to be home.

"Hey, why don't you grab that hot shower and I'll get some food going?" Max suggested after a few moments of silence. She longed to reach out and hug him, or touch him, or even just let him know that he wasn't alone anymore. She wanted to remind him that he could talk to her, even after everything that they had been through, but she wasn't altogether sure that he would respond well to any of that. Mike turned to her, his eyes, which had normally been clear and playful, were hard and clearly conflicted.

"You're staying?" He asked, his tone clearly somewhat surprised. He hadn't been expecting any of this; Max showing up at the cemetery, taking him home, even getting his house ready for him to live in again. He truly couldn't believe her. This woman was truly something else.

"As long as you want me to," Max said with a shrug. She had some time off of work, and if she was honest with herself, she was worried about him. It couldn't be easy, this being the anniversary of his father's death and the first time he'd been home in months. He also was clearly sick with something, whether or not he wanted to admit it, "Now, go on. Go get cleaned up. I'll have thrown something together by the time you're done," She said with a hint of a smile. Mike gave her a small smile back before retreating up the stairs.

As Mike entered his bedroom, he looked around. He knew for a fact that Max had been in there recently. There should have been a layer of dust over everything, but his room was spotless and even smelled fresh. He knew that if he were to sniff his sheets, they were likely clean, though if he was honest, he couldn't even remember whether those were the sheets that he'd left on his bed when he'd left or not. With a low sigh he stripped his clothes off and headed for the bathroom. Sure enough, there were brand new bottles of the soap and shampoo he used. Did Max do _everything_ for him? It was definitely starting to feel that way. He was grateful, though. He'd be sure to say something to her once he took the shower that he was dying for.

Once Mike got into the shower, he wasn't sure he was ever going to get out. The last motel he'd been in, somewhere in South America, seemed to not ever have hot water. The amazingly warm water from the shower pounded his body and felt amazing, but it also made him cough as it loosened up whatever the hell was in his chest. He swore as he finally got the damn cough under control once again, straightening up and leaning against the wall. It wasn't often that he felt weak, even when he was sick, but this was a new feeling altogether.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed in the shower before the water started to run cold, but by the time he got out and into clean clothes, a pair of flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt, he was ready to pass out. He figured it couldn't hurt anything to lay down for a minute or two on his own bed. He was out almost the moment his head hit the pillows.


End file.
